Should I Have Another Garlic Knot?

Should I have another garlic knot?
The meeting has only just begun.
I tried to look demure with my one pizza slice
and kept my five garlic knots hidden in a napkin.
But now that they’re gone, I find myself wanting
one more garlic knot, and there are plenty left.
Will I look like a jerk if I get another garlic knot
or will I be a hero for all the others who don’t know
if it’s okay to get up in the middle of the meeting
for another garlic knot, which the host provided?

I scan the room for clues but only find half-asleep faces
and a girl who sat next to the garlic knots and
is casually eating one right off the plate.
Clever bitch. That should’ve been my garlic knot!
How did I not think of that? Will it be weird if I move seats?
I could say there’s a draft; that’s very ladylike,
or I could slowly move down one seat at a time
and convince everyone the prime garlic knot real estate
had been my seat all along. Will they see through me?

Goddammit, this shouldn’t be this hard.
Nobody cares if I have another garlic knot.
The host, so graciously, brought them for us after all.
Wouldn’t it be ruder to not finish the garlic knots?
Or is there some unwritten rule we can’t finish the garlic knots
because the host wants them with their dinner tonight?
So if I get up to get a garlic knot, I will interrupt them
and also rob them of a tasty side dish, and I’ll lose my job
and never be able to find another one because
I’ll be the impatient garlic knot hog.

I think someone may have just asked me a question.
I can’t be sure. I only have the sudden silence in the room
as the foundation for this assumption.
A part of me really hopes the question was,
“Would you like another garlic knot?” After they notice
I was staring at the greasy, buttery treats.
Then I could answer with a resounding, “God, yes!”
and we could move on with our lives. But the rest of me
knows that even if that were the question, I’d say,
“No, I’m okay,” because clearly the root of all my issues
is that I’m worried about being judged for my garlic knot habits.
I’m still unsure of what just happened but the silence continues
so I nod my head as I often do at work when someone asks me
a question but I wasn’t paying attention. 99% of the time,
like this time, it’s good enough, so the host nods back
and continues. I sit back and imagine the taste of garlic on my tongue.

The worst thing is that I’m not even hungry.
I had a slice of pizza and five other garlic knots,
but I know that, like a true American,
I cannot and will not be okay until I have
just…one…more…

The bustle around me must mean the meeting’s adjourned.
People are gathering their bags and leaving, only a small group
remains clustered around the meeting host.  I look over
to the area where lunch had been so carefully assembled
and see that there are still eleven beautiful, glistening garlic knots.
Now is my chance. I’m going for it.

I almost feel as though I’m floating toward the garlic knots
in one majestic alley-oop. I’m soon to be free of my burden.
I roll out my arm to the plate like a flourishing red carpet
and grab a garlic knot. With fervor, I stuff it into my mouth.

I close my eyes as I chew, tasting each delicious morsel,
each delicious crumb. I’m afraid to swallow because I know
life will never be this good again. Nirvana is an extra garlic knot.
When it’s over, I open my eyes slowly to ease myself back.

Why is everyone staring at me? Why is everyone staring at me?
Did I moan with delight? Chew too loudly?
Do I have grease on my face? Did someone have dibs?
Or is a relieved stare? Because they knew my plight.
Is there such thing as a relieved stare?

I begin to back away, attempting to cloak my panic
and self-consciousness. I have to get out of here. Fast.
But before I go, I take one longing look back at the table,
remembering my journey, my ephemeral glory,
when I notice there are still three slices of pizza left.
My stomach makes a yawp of yearning. I stop for a moment.

Should I have another slice of pizza?

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